Roles
by Mystwalker
Summary: Sometimes you do what has to be done. For Sephiroth, Cissnei, and Zack, that is no different. Slight-AU. From my Another Side universe.


**Roles **

**(Another Side Oneshot) **

**By:**

**Mystwalker**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Final Fantasy VII.

**A/N: **For those of you just coming into this, this is a spinoff one-shot from my larger FFVII fanfiction, **Final Fantasy VII: Another Side**. In this AU, Sephiroth did not turn evil, Genesis burned down Nibelheim, and Cissnei helped Sephiroth save Zack. This is set after they leave Midgar, which hasn't happened yet in **Another Side** but will happen eventually. Please see **Another Side** if you want the full story, but you don't need to read **Another Side** to understand this fic, just realize that Sephiroth, Zack, and Cloud all have their Crisis Core personalities.

XxXxX

Sephiroth was always one of the first to wake.

He got up to study the terrain. He would leave their camp, going to stand on the highest point of elevation he could find. He considered their maps, the road ahead, their journey and their destination. He considered their supplies, and their current state of health, coupled with the fastest way towards where they were going. Occasionally he would fly, but only if they were far enough away from civilization, and there was no chance of being spotted. He would circle the perimeter, taking note of any major landmarks, any clouds in the distance, or any potential threat.

He would then take note of any opportunities to restock. Then he would plan out a schedule for the rest of their day. He made plans to call for more frequent breaks, because Aerith would never ask for one, even though it was clear that out of all of them, she was the most unsuited to a sustained journey. He would consider a safe place to stop for lunch, and the amount of game they would need to find to keep their energy up throughout the day. He considered the shelter they would take when dinner came around, and thought of stopping an hour early so that they could train. Cloud in particular was making great strides in his work with a sword, but he still needed significantly more practice.

He considered the enemies they would encounter, and prepare his strategies. He would put Aerith in the rear, or perhaps in the center of the group depending on range—she was an extremely valuable asset as a healer and a magic-user, but her own combat abilities were best saved for emergencies only. The others, he would arrange depending on necessity. He and Zack could take the vanguard almost any time, but Zack often preferred to guard Aerith for personal reasons. Cloud and Tifa were solid fighters for their level of skill—in most cases he felt confident putting them in the fore of the group and letting them fight. Barret had the advantage of range, and Cissnei's extensive training made her versatile. She was reliable as back-up in almost any case.

When he was done, he would train, because all of his combat strategies had him at both the first line of attack and the last line of defense. And then he would return to camp just as the others started to wake. He would explain his plans, taking note of injuries people were trying to hide, and making accommodations for them. They were his men in the end. This ragtag group were his soldiers, and he would ensure that they survived.

If he didn't do it, no one else would.

XxXxX

Cissnei was always one of the first to wake.

She would lie on her side for a while, feigning sleep as she waited for Sephiroth to leave the camp. Once he was gone, she would sit up, take her shuriken, and find somewhere where she could be alone. She would sit on the ground with her phone in her hand, considering their destination and all of the pieces of information she had stored in her mind. She would consider the company's movements, as reported to her by the others and by anyone she ran across. She would close her eyes and attempt to piece together multiple shards of information, turning it all into a cohesive whole.

Then she would consider. She would think about the people she knew wherever they were going, the major players in both the company and the underground. She would consider those who were sympathetic to their cause, and those who might become with a little persuasion. She would think long and hard about what she could steal, what information she could gain, and who she could extort. She considered, usually in the darker hours before dawn, whether assassination would be a worthwhile venture, and by the time the sun crested the horizon, she would have several half-formed plans.

She would not reveal any of those to her teammates. Most of the time, they would never be enacted. But she considered them anyway, and a few, the ones she deemed less risky or more necessary, she did. She always did those things out of the public eye, away from where any other member of their group could see them. She would watch Aerith, Red, Barret and Tifa. She would remember Midgar. And she would take a deep breath, and bear the weight. Because that was just her way. She wasn't a sword, like Zack, Sephiroth, or Cloud. She was a knife in the shadows.

If she didn't do it, no one else would.

XxXxX

Zack was always one of the first to wake.

He would stretch in the predawn light after Cissnei and Sephiroth left, smiling to himself as he considered how strongly the chains of competence bound both of them. He would roll himself to his feet and pick up his Buster Sword in his hand. It was always heavy in the mornings, as though it was reminding him that while he bore it now, it had once belonged to another, and he carried that other's burden as well as his own. He would press his forehead against the flat of the blade and close his eyes, inhaling deeply as he recalled that other's eyes and repeated his mantra, that creed.

He would go find a secluded place not too far from camp, and he would practice. And as he practiced, he would remember. He would remember words, and lectures, and sometimes painful reminders of things that he had come to hold dear. Honor. Dreams. Things that he still thought of even when others didn't. He remembered Modeoheim. He remembered Nibelheim, and helplessness. He remembered Sector 7. He would practice until his arms ached, until the memories were strongest, because these were his demons, and he had to banish them first.

He waited for the others to wake. Once they did, he would smile. He would ask everyone how they slept. He would help Aerith and Tifa prepare breakfast, occasionally stealing food and getting scolded by them. Tifa would occasionally smack him. That would hurt—she could throw a punch. He would tease Cloud and loudly demand that Cloud man up and ask Tifa out, or something along those lines, just to see the younger man's face turn bright red. He would wait for Sephiroth and Cissnei to come back, and then he would goad them both into conversation, until Sephiroth was seated by the fire comfortably drinking coffee and Cissnei had been absorbed by the group of girls, laughing and joking about something or another. And when the camp was alive and all the demons were banished for the day, when there was joking, laughter, and good-natured banter all around, he would sit down, set down his plate, and think.

Sometimes waking was hardest for him. There were days when memories were strong, when they threatened to overtake him. There were days when he also felt like giving up, when the sword seemed like it was too heavy to lift. But he pushed himself to his feet anyway. Because if he fell, they would fall. He remembered Angeal, standing proud in the center of a group of SOLDIERs at Wutai—reassuring them, encouraging them, as Sephiroth took the lead. He remembered standing in the crowd, remembered Angeal walking over to him once, placing a hand on his shoulder and telling him to hang in there. And he would tell Cloud the same.

He would lift that sword, that burden, every day.

If he didn't do it, no one else would.


End file.
